


Hold Onto You

by teacuphuman



Series: A Month of Kink! [16]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Brief thoughts of suicide, Dom/sub, Feelings, M/M, submissive drop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:25:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur offers to lend a hand when Eames enters a submissive drop.</p><p>Arthur is still for a moment before his hands curve around Eames’ head, holding him steady. He squeezes the back of Eames’ neck, fingers digging in almost to the point of pain. Slowly, Eames calms, matching Arthur’s laboured breaths. He inhales, shaky and embarrassed, but when he tries to pull away, Arthur keeps him fixed in place.</p><p>“You’re going to tell me what happened, and who did this to you.” Arthur’s voice is hard, his hands firm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Onto You

**Author's Note:**

> Day 16 of the Month of Kink: Asphyxiation

Eames can feel it building. The itch below his skin, the twitching he can’t control. The desire to curl up in a ball and hide. The job he’s on is difficult enough without the added emotional stress of his breakup.

Arthur keeps watching him, frowning over the screen of his laptop. Eames tries to keep from fidgeting, but when the chemist, Volquez, yelps and drops a glass beaker, he spends fifteen minutes hyperventilating in the bathroom. When he recovers, Arthur is leaning against his desk.

“Where is everyone?” Eames shoves his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking.

“I sent them for lunch.” Arthur just stands there, eyes flicking over him.

“Is it that time already? Best find myself a sandwich, then.” He grabs his jacket off the chair, stilling when Arthur’s hand touches his arm.

“Eames, are you okay?”

Arthur looks concerned, putting Eames on the defensive. “Course.” He pulls away.

“You’re kind of a shitty liar for a con man, you know that?” Arthur steps back. “Look, whatever it is, fix it. We can’t afford to have you less than stellar on this.”

“Your concern is touching, Arthur, but unnecessary. Ate something that didn’t agree with me. By tomorrow I’ll be right as rain.” Eames smiles, but he knows Arthur can tell it’s hollow.

“Just...take care of it, okay?” Arthur goes back to his reports.

Eames hands are still shaking when he lights his cigarette and heads for his hotel. He’s not okay, and he knows it. Hasn’t been okay for weeks. Not since Damien left. Had the man simply broken things off, told Eames it wasn’t working, that he wasn’t worth the effort, Eames would be fine. Instead he’d walked out, leaving Eames open and vulnerable, unable to extract himself from the headspace he’d been in at the time.

And now, now he can’t even pick a fucking can of soup off the shelf. He’s been existing on whatever Arthur drops on his desk twice a day, and he hasn’t done any of the research needed to perfect his forge. If they bollocks this up the client will come after them. The mark will come after them. Hell, Arthur will probably shoot him the moment he wakes up, and all Eames can do it sit and stare at nothing. He feels like he’s being scratched raw. Everyday it gets harder to get up, get dressed, breath.

He smokes the rest of his cigarettes crouched beside the sliding glass door, afraid if he opens it more than a crack, well, he can’t think too much about that. He sleeps in his clothes, on top of the covers, unable to deal with seeing his own skin.

He wakes to banging, blinking blearily at the sun streaming through the windows. He stumbles to the door, not giving a thought to protection until he sees the gun in Arthur’s hand. Arthur pushes into the room, searching the space before speaking.

“What the fuck, Eames?”

Eames presses his hands to his face, trying to center himself. “Sorry, must have slept in.”

“I’ve been calling you for hours. I knocked for ten minutes before you answered. I was ready to break the door down. Jesus, I thought you were dead!”

Arthur is angry and worried, and something in Eames responds to that, drawing him in. He doesn’t stop until he’s on his knees, face pressed to Arthur’s belly, hands clenched in his jacket. He’s gasping for breath, leaving a wet spot on the soft fabric.

Arthur is still for a moment before his hands curve around Eames’ head, holding him steady. He squeezes the back of Eames’ neck, fingers digging in almost to the point of pain. Slowly, Eames calms, matching Arthur’s laboured breaths. He inhales, shaky and embarrassed, but when he tries to pull away, Arthur keeps him fixed in place.

“You’re going to tell me what happened, and who did this to you.” Arthur’s voice is hard, his hands firm.

A thrill of want goes through Eames, but he shakes his head, clenching his jaw against the words that want to come pouring out. He and Arthur don’t do this. If he shows Arthur this part of himself, it will change their entire dynamic, and Eames can’t lose that.  
  


Arthur tilts Eames’ head up, stroking his ear. “I need to know what happened.”

“It’s not-, I’ll fix it. I swear I will.” Eames croaks, forcing himself to let go.

“It’s clearly gone too far for that. Let me help you.” Arthur’s tone is so sincere it makes Eames cringe. He’s ruining everything. Again. Why can’t he just snap out of this?

“I’ll pull out of the job. Suarez is free, I think. You can call her.” Unable to stand, Eames crawls to the bed, curling on top of the disheveled bedding.

“Nevermind the job,” Arthur stands over him. “I can’t leave you like this. You’re sick.”

Eames laughs, miserable. “I’m not sick, Arthur. I wish it were that simple.”

Arthur sighs, frustrated. “What then? What the hell is going on?”

Eames looks at him. Really looks. Arthur is strong. Arthur is anchored. He’s resourceful, and he’s permanent. At least that’s how Eames has always thought of him. Maybe it wouldn’t destroy their friendship if he knew about Eames. Maybe he would accept it as just another part of a man he’s known for nearly a decade, and not see it as a weakness. A depravity.

“If I tell you, you have to promise me something.” Eames says, heart beating wildly at the thought of being rejected, again.

“Anything,” Arthur sits, relief evident on his face.

“If it bothers you, you walk out that door. Forever. I mean it, Arthur, I can’t stand to see you look at me with pity or, or,”

“Eames, stop,” Arthur lays his hand on Eames shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Eames nods, taking a breath before recounting his story in halting sentences. He tells him about Damien. About their short relationship, and his own needs. He outlines how Damien always pushed for more, wanting to test the boundaries, despite Eames’ insistence on hard lines. He explains how he’s felt disconnected and lost since Damien walked out after Eames  used his safe word.

Arthur is silent for a moment, frowning at the comforter before exploding in fury. “That son of a bitch!”

Eames startles, drawing away.

“Sorry, shit, sorry,” Arthur rubs  circles on his shoulder to calm him, drawing him closer. “So you safe worded, and he just walked away. Who does that?”

“It’s called a drop,” Eames says. “They usually don’t last this long, but I can’t seem to pull myself out.”

“This has happened before?” Arthur’s eyebrows rise.

“I’m apparently high maintenance.” Eames scratches his cheek, fingers rasping against the stubble. Just talking about it is helping. Arthur’s reaction, more so.

“So what do we do?”

“ _We_ don’t do anything. _I_ wait it out, or find someone else to...fill the role.”

“I can do it.” Arthur blurts.

Eames stares at him, giving him time to realize what he’s offering, but Arthur only looks more resolute the longer the silence stretches.

“Darling, I appreciate the offer, really, I do. But this is no small thing.”

“I know that. Do you not trust me?” Arthur frowns.

“There’s no one I trust more, surely you know that by now.”

“Then why can’t I do this? Name one person who can handle you better than I can.”

And that’s the thing, Eames can’t. Arthur’s been putting up with his flirtations and his tantrums, ironing out Eames’ rough edges for years now, and he seems no closer to walking away than he did the day they met.

Eames licks his lips, picking out delicate words. “It takes a certain, tenacity, to deal with me. One needs to have a strong will, and be willing to follow through, and hell, I’m describing you to a tee, aren’t I?”

Arthur very nearly preens. “I dare say you are.”

“There’s more to it, though. There’s the sex.” Eames says, calling his bluff.

Arthur arches an eyebrow. “Are you implying I’m not up to snuff in that department, Mr. Eames?”

“Heavens, no. You’re lovely, dear, but it’s sex. With me.”

“And?”

Eames sits up. “And what? You’ve never given me even a whiff of desire in that area. You ignore all my attention and crush my every advance.”

“Sounds rather like the perfect recipe for handling you, doesn’t it?” Arthur loosens his tie, pulling it over his head and tossing it on the dresser. “I am a professional, Mr. Eames, and when I’m working, I do so in a very professional manner.”

Eames can feel his stomach flutter as Arthur opens the top button of his shirt. “And when you’re not working?”

Arthur flashes his teeth in a smile. “I am very precise and thorough. I have also been known to respond to serious sexual advances.”

“So, all these years, you never gave me the time of day because I didn’t ask after office hours?”

“Exactly.” The second and third button come undone.

“Right. So then, we’re going to…”

“Only if you want to.” Arthur meets his gaze, straight on.

Eames is shocked at the concern and determination he sees. The longer he looks, the more he can pick out the details of Arthur’s arousal. His pupils are dilated, his pulse in jumping, and his breath is quick. Arthur wants this. Arthur wants him.

“Do you trust me?” Arthur asks.

“With my life,” Eames says, feeling like his head's above water for the first time in weeks.

“Then tell me what you need.”

“I like to be choked. Hands or arms only. No belts, or cords, no bags,” Eames shudders at the memory of the smell of polyethylene drowning out his senses. “A little constriction is fine beforehand, but I want to come with my ass full and my vision blacking.”

Arthur runs his hand through Eames’ hair, nostrils flaring. “I can do that.”

His voice is low and his erection is unmistakeable. Eames feels frisson of pleasure at that, though he doubts he’ll be hard anytime soon. Even if he doesn’t get off, having Arthur go through the motions may be enough to bring him back to even.

“You can undress me, I’d like that.” Eames whispers.

“What’s your safeword?” Arthur asks, trailing his hand down Eames’ chest.

“Polka.”

Arthur smiles, pulling Eames shirt over his head. “Of course it is.”

He tugs Eames’ pant off next, staring down at him. “Up, into the bathroom.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Eames scoots off the bed, lumbering across the room. He’s startled when Arthur presses up behind him as he turns on the shower.

“Let me help you,” Arthur breathes, hands flitting over Eames’ body.

“You don’t have-”

“Eames,” Arthur’s voice is steely, brokering no argument. “I am here to help you, Use your safe word if you need it, but other than that, stop saying no to me. Understand?”

Eames leans into him, breathing out in a rush. He can hardly believe Arthur is willing to do this. He never imagined he’d take to it so well.

“Yes, Arthur.”

His underwear hit the floor and he’s shuffled under the warm spray. After days in the same clothes, the hot water is a purge of his raw emotions, and Arthur’s hands on him are a return to sanity.

Arthur washes Eames from head to toe, not missing an inch. He pets Eames’ soft cock, but doesn’t linger. If he spends a little more care and time stroking over his entrance, Eames isn’t going to complain.

Arthur’s body is as lovely as Eames imagined. Long bones and firm muscle create lines Eames wants to spend hours worshipping with his tongue.

“Can I kiss you?” Arthur asks, hands firm on Eames hips.

Eames nods, relaxed and compliant. Arthur’s lips slide over his, wet and slick from the water. He backs Eames against the wall and devours his mouth, sweeping his tongue in to map the shapes there. Eames does his best to kiss back, but the speed of which he’s sunk into his subspace is a little alarming. Or at least it would be if Arthur wasn’t pushing him gently to his knees.

“Tell me if this isn’t okay.” His words are almost lost to the stream of the water and the pounding in Eames head as he takes Arthur into his mouth.

Eames is good at this. Eames likes it. It’s familiar, and comforting for all that he’s never tasted Arthur before. Arthur lets Eames suck him slowly, curling his tongue around the shaft and flicking at his circumcision scar. When Eames grips Arthur’s thighs, pulling him in faster, and deeper, Arthur takes hold of Eames’ head, stilling him. He presses firm fingers to Eames’ jaw, giving him no choice but to open up.

With slow, agonizing thrusts, Arthur fucks into Eames’ mouth, going further each time, until he’s buried so deep, Eames is swallowing around him. Arthur groans, bracing himself on the wall, and pushing in just far enough to cut off Eames’ air.

The rush is immediate and euphoric, sending Eames into a quiet state of bliss. He tries to hold Arthur there, prolonging the feeling, but Arthur pulls back, peeling Eames’ hands off his body.

“Hands behind your back,” Arthur instructs, sounding wrecked. “God, you’re amazing.

Eames is tempted to end it all here. Convince Arthur to come down his throat, flooding Eames, and overloading his senses, but he knows he needs more. As much as he wants to please Arthur, this encounter is about making Eames better. Maybe if he’s extremely good, Arthur will let Eames do this again. He could make Arthur happy, he thinks. He knows for sure now that he’d like to try.

Arthur’s cock slides back in, faster this time, not allowing Eames time to adjust. He thrusts hard, two, three times, before stilling with the head of his cock blocking Eames’ throat. Just as Eames starts to struggle, Arthur pulls out, gasping.

“Fuck, that was close,” Arthur bends down to kiss him, hard and sloppy. “How did I not know you would be like this?”

Eames opens his mouth to reply, but Arthur slides two fingers over his tongue.

“Up, God, I need to fuck you.”

Eames moans around the fingers, climbing over the side of the tub. Arthur doesn’t bother drying them off, just leads Eames to the bed by the mouth, and presses Eames’ wet body against the pillows.

“Where’s the lube?” He thrusts his fingers, watching them disappear into Eames’ mouth.

Arthur’s cock is bobbing below his navel, smearing precome and shower water. Eames sucks at the fingers, already craving the salty, slick taste of Arthur. He motions to his suitcase and Arthur reluctantly removes his fingers. Before he climbs off the bed, he reaches below Eames, dragging the wet digits over Eames hole. Eames’ legs fall open in invitation and Arthur chuckles.

“Oh, really?”

Eames’ eyes find his and he tries to put all the heat and elation he’s feeling into the look. “ _Yes._ ”

Arthur stumbles in his haste, tossing Eames’ clothes everywhere in his search for the bottle of lube. He grins triumphantly, holding it up, and Eames knows he’s lost. Somehow, over the years, and the jobs, through the fighting and the forging, he fell in love with Arthur without even noticing. What will he do when Arthur leaves?

Something must show in his face because Arthur climbs on top of him, holding his face and pressing him into the mattress.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” He smiles. “I’m right here. I need you to be here, too, okay?”

Eames nods slowly, throat sore and thick for an entirely new reason.

“Good. Now, you’re going to listen to me, and do what I say, right?”

Another nod.

“Yes, of course you are. Everything is going to be fine, but you have to stay with me, okay? I won’t leave. No matter what. Tell me you believe me.”

Eames blinks furiously, bringing himself back to Arthur’s commands. “I believe you.”

Arthur beams. “Good. Now, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t breathe. And you’re going to love it.”

He scrambles back, easing Eames’ legs apart. A cold, slick finger slides into Eames with no warning, followed by a second after only a few strokes. He grits his teeth at the burn and wonders how Arthur is able to read him so well.

“Perfect. Fuck, Eames, you were made for this, weren’t you?”

Eames bites his lip, afraid of what he might say in the moment.

“Better let everything out now,” Arthur stokes down Eames’ thigh as he presses in third finger, making Eames gasp. “Later you won’t have the chance.”

Eames’ cock twitches, perking up at Arthur’s words.

“You’re so tight, can I touch your cock?” Arthur is staring longingly at Eames’ crotch as he spreads his fingers inside his ass.

“Better not,” Eames chokes out. “Or we won’t get to the next part.”

“Next time, then.” Arthur promises, sending Eames into a euphoric spasm.

“Please, now,”

“Please what?” Arthur thrusts harder, staying clear of Eames’ prostate.

“Fuck me, Arthur, please!” Eames begs, panting.

“God, yes.” Arthur slicks himself up, making no mention of a condom, and, God, what that does to Eames.

He slides in, steady and unrelenting, until his balls are pressed against Eames’ ass. His eyes are closed, his hands clenching and unclenching on Eames’ hips. Eames squeezes, urging him on. He receives a quick slap to the ass for his trouble.

“Do that again and I’m going to blow my load. We start when I say, got it?” Arthur grits out, eyes dark.

“Yes, Arthur.” Eames is almost breathless, waiting. He wants to fuck himself on Arthur’s cock, wants to get to the part when Arthur will wrap those lovely, long fingers around his throat, and _squeeze_.

Arthur takes a deep breath, lifting one of Eames’ legs over his shoulder. “Do you want my hand now, or later?”

“Now, please. I need to come.” Eames whimpers, not realizing how bad his need is until the words are out.

“Okay, baby, I’ve got you.” Arthur shifts lower, focusing on how to strangle Eames while fucking him.

“When I come, you can keep going,” Eames tells him, eyes closing at the brush of Arthur’s palm over his clavicle. “The harder the better.”

“God, Eames, you’re going to kill me.” Arthur’s voice is so full of admiration, Eames opens his eyes.

“Will you stay? After this?” He can’t help it, he needs to know now. If Arthur won’t stay, Eames can get to memorizing every moment. He can get through this knowing it will never happen again, but he needs to know for sure.

“I’m not going anywhere until you want me to.” Arthur kisses him slowly as he starts to thrust.

Eames is tight, and there wasn’t enough preparation, and every spark of pain stokes the fire inside him, sending him barrelling toward ecstasy. Arthur’s hand is warm on his throat, strength apparent in the certitude of his movements. He tightens his grip, catching Eames’ trachea in the space between his thumb and index finger.

Eames stares up at him in wonder, focus narrowing as his air gets thin. Arthur is whispering encouragements, little breaths of “ _yeah_ ” and “ _gorgeous_ ”, while Eames wraps his legs around him and brings him in deeper.

Arthur’s breath is ghosting over Eames’ lips, a dark pantomime of assistance. Eames vision blurs, his mind crying out for oxygen while his heart soars. Arthur’s cock is rubbing across his prostate, leading him closer and closer to the edge. The thrusts are hard, their bodies close, trapping Eames’ erection between them where it’s leaking profusely. Arthur brushes his lips over Eames’ as pinpricks of black burst until they’re all he can see. Eames comes, bucking under Arthur, eyes wide as he clenches and rides the wave through his orgasm.

Arthur releases him as he starts to come down, and Eames sucks in air, greedy for the smell of Arthur above him. Arthur wastes no time in slamming into Eames, holding him in place while he fucks him so hard, Eames will feel it for days. Arthur comes growling Eames name, thrusting until he’s soft and slipping out.

Eames lays there, wrung out and oversensitive as Arthur trails soft kisses over the marks his hand left. He’s speaking, but Eames is too out of it to grasp the words. Instead, he lets the warm tone of Arthur’s voice soothe his aches, and prays he’ll be allowed to keep him.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on tumblr at [teacuphuman09](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/teacuphuman09)


End file.
